A lamppost named Mark

this is the forth installment– read from the beginning.

by Paul-Newell Reaves

O.
Sideways eights and
upside-down sevens,
sine-curving arrows,
evolutionary rocks:
perhaps the Lamppost’s name 
was Mark.
But many that are first shall be last;
and the last first.

(Not long ago, on the Isle of Mann—
rising above the Irish Sea—
refusing the yellow rose, my hand,
Anna turned her shoulder on me.
Now as I swim, I dream of land,
sifting from darkest depths of memory.
Read one more chapter, if you can—
you’ll get to hear more of the Lamppost’s story:)






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